Times are changing and so am I.
I’m still who I was yesterday,
but newly refined for today.
Times are wretched and so are we.
We all have to move on,
though time’s too long.
Times are rushed and beaten down.
No thought or consideration;
and our lacking of concentration.

Times are like dying flower fields.
I walk in this clearing,
knowing tomorrow’s nearing.
My worry so pointless.
There’s nothing to be fearing.
It’s time to better myself
and the world if I may.
Not wasting another day.
I have little left now,
but enough to give away.

All I hold now is a single flower;
this buttercup keeps me together.
It’s my kindness, my heart, 
and my dearly loved friends.
I hold this buttercup in my hands,
words echoing through my head, 
reminding me that I’m not all bad,
that I’m beautiful the way I am,
and that those around me are
lucky enough to have had me.

Wavy brown locks cradle my shoulders,
muddy eyes scanning my surroundings
as the cold wind cuts across my skin.
My eyes water from bitter feelings and the chilling breeze,
though they speak a deeper meaning,
a meaning that I will share one day.
I will mean something to someone some day,
I will mean the world,
and I will help the world that makes me feel so meaningless.
Just so no one will feel as I did
and sometimes still do.

I’ll take their words with me
wherever I decide to go.
And though the buttercup will die,
I won’t, not until I’m ready to.
And though this soft, yellow flower
will have to die one day,
their words and faces will always be with me
as if it still flourished with life where I found it;
in that barren, lifeless field that died around it.
It’s legacy will live on,
and live on with me.